


A Blessing In Disguise

by starsinoureyes



Category: One Direction (Band)
Genre: Ballroom Dancing, Costume Parties & Masquerades, Ghosts, Halloween, M/M, scottish castle
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-11-15
Updated: 2014-11-15
Packaged: 2018-02-25 12:52:46
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 9,619
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/2622473
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/starsinoureyes/pseuds/starsinoureyes
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>What happens in a Scottish castle during a charity ball, stays in the Scottish castle.</p><p>(or the one where Louis meets Harry disguised in fancy clothes and a mask.)</p>
            </blockquote>





	A Blessing In Disguise

**Author's Note:**

> This is for karukara. I hope you're not too disappointed.

The old Moyres castle looks different at night. It’s tall and rough walls stand ominously in the dark while the moon’s glow casts shadows in the garden and plays with silhouettes of the trees. The closed windows and big oak doors seem impenetrable and unwelcoming to any passers-by. The castle is surrounded by a thick forest and the garden flowers and bushes have all wilted with the first harsh wind in early October. It looks abandoned and forgotten.

But it isn’t.

If it were then Louis Tomlinson wouldn’t be invited to the charity event in the infamous castle. The castle looks softer and habitable in the early morning or in the late evening, but at night it is as if it radiates danger and fear. Suspicious sounds and wind howling don’t make it any better too. Louis could swear he heard scratching outside of his room in the dead of the night. But then again he was fed by ghost stories from his co-workers and Stan in the two weeks after he was given the assignment and it might have gotten into his head.

Louis is not a child. Nor is he scared of some odd noises at night and tricks his mind makes when there isn’t enough light. He refuses to succumb to such inhibitions. It was probably the rapidly growing Halloween mood that was capturing the place as the end of October neared.

So, he will rise to the challenge that is ahead of him: attend the charity ball hosted by the Moyres castle owner, Aidan Allen.

When Mr. Allen first bought the castle and turned it into a hotel, almost every Scottish newspaper and MP had an opinion on it. They mostly accused Mr. Allen of turning Scottish heritage and history into a tourist attraction, a cheap and easy way to make money while simultaneously stomping on everything the old Moyres castle represented to Scotland. It didn’t help matters that Mr. Allen grew up and spend most of his life in Lincoln, England.

“English bastard.” Many people said when Louis asked around for their opinion on the man. It didn’t matter that Mr. Allen had a Scottish mum and learnt about Scottish history and customs since he was a little boy.

Nevertheless, Mr. Allen tried all he could to bring tourists and foreigners to Scotland and to the Moyres castle. It was on an isolate place, few miles away from a cliff and in a thick forest. Despite that, the road to the castle was mostly passable and many people from England and Ireland spent their summer holidays in cool and wet Scottish weather. Several years passed since the accusations in the newspapers and everybody got used to Mr. Allen and new addition to their tourist attractions. Since then nothing major was heard about the hotel and castle, and Mr. Allen decided to host a charity ball and invite most of the important men in tourism and the press. To Louis’ annoyance, it was a fancy costume event. With masks and all.

 

“Mr. Tomlinson!” Mr. Allen almost shrieks when he sees Louis enter the grand ballroom. He walks briskly across the room to Louis and shakes his hand harder than needed. “Welcome, welcome! Please, join us! Have a drink!” Aidan Allen is a tall, skinny thirty two year old with big rectangular specks on his nose. He was wearing purple Renaissance-in-Venice inspired suit with white mask entangled in his black hair.

He pulls one of the waiters by the sleeve and offers Louis champagne. Louis brings it quickly to his lips and the sparkly drink tickles Louis’ nostrils at which he frowns.

“Mr. Allen, you’re not trying to get me drunk, are you?” Louis smiles lopsidedly and gulps. It automatically fizzles down his throat and Louis reaches for another offered to him again by Mr. Allen.

“My intentions with you, Mr. Tomlinson, are strictly businessy.” He grins at Louis, “I want you to fully enjoy the ball and write the best impressions of it. If I have to loosen you up a little with my champagne, it won’t be so bad?” Mr. Allen answers and clicks his own slim glass against Louis’.

It would probably be better if Louis were at least a little drunk. Louis’ best work happens if he’s at least a little drunk or high and Mr. Allen, after all, put a lot of hope in Louis to report only the best things about his hotel and future plans in the Guardian. Louis assumed it was why he got the best room which the most magnificent view on the premises. Louis didn’t intend to lie and write rubbish about the castle in the first place because he genuinely liked everything he saw so far, but it wouldn’t hurt to milk his host’s good nature some more. If he works this well, he just might get free seven day holiday in the Moyres castle.

“Please, you can go around, mingle with the other guests and drink as much champagne as you want.” Mr. Allen says, clapping his hands in enthusiasm, “I’ll be right back.”

Louis finally moves from the side of the entrance and walks fully into the room, looking around. No expenses were saved in the décor. Thick red velvet curtains hung from the long windows reached all the way to the floor, tables clad in white silken tablecloths were spread close to the walls and windows to make room in the middle for dancers. Crystal chandeliers hanged from the high ceiling over the crowd. One wide wall was covered with large silver mirrors. Quartet in the corner of the room was playing some familiar classical piece that Louis couldn’t name.

It was all so posh and too extravagant for his liking. Forced and unnatural. Louis grabs another glass from a silver platter and puts his black mask on. In case Mr. Allen returns and wants to drag him in conversation again.

People milled around, dressed in various rich costumes and only some wearing masks. Louis recognised the local MP and few sportsmen who grew up here nearby. One occupied table laughs uproariously, startling Louis from his observations. In the corner he spots a TV crew dressed in simple suits and ties, carrying big black camera and a microphone.

 _So, it will be televised as well_ , Louis thinks as he grabs a canapé from another waiter’s platter. _Mr. Allen thought of everything_. He was just about to walk around to find his seat, when he spots a lone figure leaning against the thick curtains and looking his way. Half his face is obscured by a rich black mask embroidered with silver and he is wearing black suit and a white shirt with ruffles around his neck. He looks as if he entered from a previous decade, his clothes were that authentic. Louis looks back at his covered face, trying to figure out if he knows the man who was so attentively staring at him. He couldn’t place the soft brown locks and lean body with a name. Stranger’s plump rosy lips were curved into a smug grin.

What was Mr. Allen’s policy about getting frisky between the sheets? Suddenly, it was very hard for Louis to find a good reason to deny the man anything.

He walks casually across the room, going in zigzags while avoiding dancers that danced freely to something that reminded Louis of Beethoven’s Fifth, and he finally approaches the mysterious man. He gets a better look at the man’s clothes and face with each step. He must be very into this kind of stuff because no one in the room cared enough to have genuinely authentic robes. And is that a cape?

“Hello.” Louis says and looks up into the stranger’s eyes. He is a bit taller than him and it made Louis more excited and determined to woo the man who had his eyes on him.

“Good evening.” Stranger says with a deep raspy voice which makes Louis dizzy and stands up straighter. More inches on Louis. He put his hands behind his back, like a proper-behaving schoolboy. “Are you enjoying your evening?”

Louis swivels with his last drops of champagne in his hand, smiling flirtly. “I guess. If the food wasn’t so good and drinks weren’t going around constantly, I’d be on my way out.” Louis leaned on his right leg and cocked his hip out, assuming what Stan claims to be his ‘flirty stance’. He taps gently with his fingers on his crystal glass, eyeing not so subtly the man in front of him.

“What about you? Are you charmed by Allen’s fake bling?” he asks him. The man tips his head curiously to the side.

“By what?”

“Bling. Luxury. Posh rich people with their fancy clothes and charity events they throw every once in a while because they have nothing better to do.” Louis answers and eyes carefully the man. He didn’t look like he was some banker’s or five star hotel manager’s son, but what the hell Louis knew. These days you can’t assume anything. Last he wanted to do was insult the man before brining him (hopefully) back to his room.

“Oh.” Stranger blinks in surprise. “No, no. I’m here for the food and drinks, too.”

Louis smirks. He is obviously lying. Or he is crashing the party and didn’t want to bring too much attention to himself. Whatever brought him here, Louis is thankful for it.

“I like that in a man.” Louis says and extends his hand. “I’m Louis.”

“My name is Harry. Harry Styles.”

 

After just half an hour in Harry’s company, Louis was properly charmed. Which wasn’t going according to his original plans of seducing and dumping but Louis appreciated his company before the main event of the night starts. Harry is witty, observant and a bit of a slow talker. He sometimes talks around before coming to the main point to his story, some of his jokes are ancient and unfunny that Louis has to laugh. He is extremely polite but cheeky as well. He also noticed that Harry was raised quite conservatively, if the way he carried himself was anything to judge by. He looked at Louis like he sprouted two heads when he talked about new TV series he was watching and several times he used words such as ‘buck’, ‘mooncalf’ and ‘scapegrace’.

Right before he asks Harry to take a walk with him in the garden so he could have a smoke, he thinks absentmindedly in the middle of one of Harry’s stories about the hotel (he lives nearby and visits the place often since he was a child, Louis found out) that he really likes Harry. He is a strange lad but lovely. It’s as if Louis is a honey bee and Harry is a flower and suddenly they were attracted to each other, complimenting and filling, enjoying each others company.

Harry takes the offer for a walk enthusiastically which Louis certainly did read as a sign to raise his game in blatant seduction in the garden. Louis is a romantic at heart.

They walk slowly on the gravel path between naked hedges and rose bushes, while Louis lights up his cigarette in the cold of the night, sucking greedily at it. Wind messes lazily with their clothes and pinches their cheeks, adding to the peculiar spirit of the Halloween night.

“Jesus, I thought England was bloody cold, but nothing beats fucking Scotland.” Louis says conversationally, tugging the collar of his suit jacket and stuffing his free hand under his armpit. Harry didn’t seem bothered by the weather conditions, and continued to walk alongside Louis.

“You’re not cold?” Louis asks him unnecessarily. Harry shook his head.

“No.”

Louis hums in interest. “It’s the cape and the thick vest that keep you warm, huh?” Harry looks down on his clothes as if he’s seeing them for the first time.

“Um, yeah. They’re…they’re quite warm.”

Louis hums again. “You look really nice, Harry. The colour and the style look great on you.” He compliments him and Harry beams at him.

“You might say it _suits_ me. Get it?” Harry says excitedly and Louis laughs half-heartedly at the pun, flicking ash off his cigarette.

 “But really, Harry. You look like million dollars and I’m like a hobo next to you.”

Harry gasps as if Louis insulted _him_. “That’s nonsense! You’re dashing, Louis, the most handsome man I’ve ever seen.” He quickly assures him and Louis hides his blush puffing the cigarette smoke like a sick dragon.

“Dashing, eh? Are we in Jane Austen novel, Harry?” Louis fights back with light-hearted teasing. Harry chuckles.

“I learned that word from her. But it fits you. Dashing Louis.” Harry says, repeating the words several times as if to test them out. “I’m going to call you that from now on.”

“Shut up, Harry!” Louis protests and tries to glare as best as he can through his fond. “I’m more Loud Lou. Alliteration, Harry, is the most prized tool in a journalist’s arsenal.”

“I thought it was words. Pilling them in nice order, one after the other. You know.” Harry counters.

“That too, but alliteration makes you want to read an article. Plus, it’s fun.”

“What would I be then? Handsome Harry?” Harry asks, wiggling his eyebrows. Louis takes the bait and stands to observe him critically for a moment.

“More like Humongous Harry or Hazardous Haz.” Louis says and shakes the ash from the tip of his cigarette elegantly.

“I’m not humongous. I’m just a bit tall.” Harry says calmly, “and, um, why hazardous?”

“Because one of these days your lame jokes will kill a man. Someone might get a heart attack listening to you.” Louis says and smiles at Harry. Harry smiles back.

“You might say I tell killer jokes then.” Harry giggles and Louis rolls his eyes. They talk quietly like that for a while, walking to the end of the garden and then slowly going back. Louis tells more about himself, his family and Stan. Right now, Louis is not opposed to even try to stay in touch with Harry. He might visit him here during the holidays or Harry can come down to old London. As the time ticks by and they’re nearly at the front doors of the castle, Harry starts to fidget and lose strings of conversation.

Louis turns to him, throws the cigarette filter on the floor and squashes it with the heel of his foot. “Are you alright? You look a bit…distracted. And out there.” He leans closer and takes his hand. It was really cold and clammy.

“Harry! You’re so cold! Let’s go back inside and get you warm. I don’t want you to freeze your balls off.” Louis tugs at Harry’s hand to get him back inside the castle. Harry follows but stops right outside of the doors.

“Wait. Louis,” Harry begged and pulled Louis closer to him.

And right then Aidan Allen decided to burst through the doors, looking for Louis. “Mr. Tomlinson! There you are! I was looking all over for you.” He walks over briskly and smiles hopefully at Louis, “we are starting with bidding and the program in several minutes, come in. I don’t want you to miss it.”

Louis looks at Harry who sighs in defeat and motions with his hand to Louis to get in. “Okay. Let’s go inside.” Louis says and puts his hands in his pockets, “Do you have any more of your fantastic champagne and those little biscuits with smoked salmon? I want Harry to try them.”

Aidan beams at Louis. “Certainly! We have plenty going around.”

 

Just as Louis predicted, the entire program was incredibly boring and predictable. Aidan offered few old pieces of furniture, some other hotels and businesses bid for plain coupons for either two day spa or family weekend. Add to that dull eighteenth century music in between setting another item for bidding, it was far from the ‘spectacle’ and ‘fabulous time’ Aidan promised in his invitations and paid articles in local newspapers.

Louis started to doze off in the middle of the program and only Harry’s soft comments on the furniture kept him awake. As it turned out, Harry was a party crasher since his name wasn’t written on any of the small cards neatly placed on the tables. Luckily, one of the invited people at Louis’ table didn’t show up and Louis dragged the empty chair next to his own.

“Oh, I like that one. Look, Lou.” Harry says and points to a chest of drawers that was also conveniently last item for bidding. The sudden use of a nickname didn’t startle Louis much. He was mostly pleased by it. “I had a similar one in my bedroom.”

Louis didn’t pay attention to what was going around him except for Harry so it surprised him when men and women started to get up from their tables and pair up in the middle of the room. “What…?” he mumbles and looks back at Harry who was smiling shyly.

“The program is over. Everyone went to dance.” Harry whispers as if it was some big secret.

“Oh.” Louis glances around. There were only few people still sitting at their tables and chatting. He looks back at Harry who was taking in his surroundings. Louis tugs his mask down a bit. “Hey, do you maybe want to…uhm…dance?” he offers shyly and blushes. He didn’t even know how to dance. He was acting like a school girl with a crush. Dear God. Harry nods with a brilliant smile on his face, brightly offers to lead and Louis couldn’t take it back anymore.

They hop on their feet and join the dancing crowd close to the front doors. Louis hopes that Harry knows how to lead because he is absolutely clueless. Harry gently wraps his long fingers around Louis’ waist and engulfs his other hand, propping it in the air. Louis timidly put his other hand on Harry’s shoulder. _So broad_ , Louis thinks before Harry sways them in tune with music.

Louis was impressed to say the least. Harry moved them so gracefully in their little part of the ballroom that his feet barely touched the floor. They spin, twirl and bounce on their feet that Louis smiles wide at people around him. _Look at my wonderful partner_ , he dares them with his eyes. _Look at us_. It was all so wonderful that Louis expected Harry to yell ‘It’s midnight!’ and rush out of the door any minute. But he didn’t. He stayed and danced three more songs with Louis. Louis voices his thoughts after the fourth song. Harry smiles broadly.

“I was taught since I was a child. And I watched other people.” He admits and grabs Louis’ hand again.

“You’re still cold, Harry.” Louis notes and squeezes his hand. Harry sighs.

“I’m fine. Can’t do anything about it.”

“Is it medical?” Louis inquires, “my mum told me that some people have shitty arteries or something so their hands and feet are always cold.”

Something flickers across Harry’s face. “Yeah. That’s it.”

Louis can do something about it. The wine at their dinner and the extra champagne got him a bit drunk and brave, so he leans closer to Harry. “You want to go to my room? I could keep you warm.”

Harry nuzzles into the side of Louis’ face and hums appreciatively. “Okay.”

“Mr. Tomlinson.” Aidan calls behind him. Louis groans then moves away from Harry.

“Yes, Mr. Allen?” Louis says annoyed and glares openly at the lanky man.

“Uhm…I was wondering how you’re enjoyed your evening? We’re going to finish in about an hour.” Aidan states with careful glances behind Louis.

“Well, uhm…it was good. You’re a very good host.” Relief stretches on Aidan’s face warily. “I’ll be on my way, then. If you don’t have anything else to say.”

“Certainly. See you tomorrow, Mr. Tomlinson.” Aidan says and walks back into the crowd. Louis turns to smile like a martyr and grab Harry’s hand, but there was no one behind him.

Harry was gone.

 

+

 

In the remaining hour of the charity ball, Louis couldn’t find Harry anywhere. He thought it will be easier once the crowd parts and stops dancing so he had a clear view around the room, but it was as if the boy disappeared into thin air. He also tried to call him around the garden – maybe he was waiting outside – but he wasn’t there either. Louis wouldn’t normally be so crestfallen over a missed opportunity and all that one night stand brings but…he wanted to be a little more with Harry. They had a good thing going.

That night when Louis lay in his bed, he remembers the weird look on Aidan Allen’s face and dreams of green eyes.

 

+

 

Thick fog had fallen on the premises of Moyres castle and men couldn’t see two feet in front of them. It was even dangerous to go for a hike or a walk in the woods because you could easily get lost and walk off the cliff two miles from the castle. It still didn’t stop the commotion inside the hotel/castle. Maids were clearing out vacated rooms and prepared them for new guests; chefs in the kitchen were working on breakfast, and Louis decided it will be good to go explore around the castle.

He needs to write that damn article and although the journalist in him wanted to write the truth of how horrible the charity ball was, he couldn’t get rid of Mr. Allen’s sad and excited eyes. He felt sorry for the young business man; running an old castle and trying to attract people to come and stay was a difficult feat.

So, he walks up and down the floors of the castle, trying to find anything interesting to write about, to camouflage the tragedy of the ball. So far he found lots of dust in old cupboards, moth eaten paintings and furniture older than his mum.

“Ooh, look at this fellow!” Louis says out loud, stopping in front of an oil portrait of stiff man with thick black moustache. “When was the last time you shaved, mate?” He comments, looking at him up and down. “Love the bowtie though. Very manly.” He checks beneath the portrait to put a name to the grim face. He laughs brightly when he sees it.

 _Harald Styles_.

If he ever sees Harry again, he’ll have to show him this. This moustache face could be one of his ancestors. _Brilliant_ , Louis thinks as he walks back to his room. He spends the rest of the day there – trying to write a perfect introduction and jot down few notes and facts in his notepad.

He doesn’t know when but he falls asleep in his chair, leaning over his papers and drooling over the notes.

Banging on his windows wake him up. Branches of the tree that is leaning right over his window are knocking (banging) persistently on the glass. Louis shook from his slumber when a particularly large branch hit his window.

“Oh, shit.” He says and walks slowly towards the ill window. He sees stormy weather outside; debris flying all over, trees leaning dangerously against the hard wind and a shower of rain. Big and thick droplets merging together in the air, almost like someone was throwing down buckets full of water. Louis shivers at the sight. _Good thing I’m inside and safe_ , he thinks before going to turn off the lamp light on his small desk.

The light flickers ominously before turning off on itself and Louis groans. _Bloody medieval castles and their electrics_. He gives up on brushing his teeth in the dark and accidentally poking his eye so he unfastens his belt and slips out of his skinny jeans. He hears a soft gasp somewhere behind him and turns around swiftly raising his hands in defence. All he sees is dark. Louis suddenly regrets not taking the karate lessons with his younger sister when he had the chance. Still in his soft jumper and pants, Louis makes a careful move backwards to his bed, mentally seeking comfort in his silky and warm duvet. He doesn’t make it that far before he hears knocking on his door.

“I’m going mad.” Louis concludes and steps forward to open the door and let the midnight guest in. He encompasses the brass knob in his small hand and pulls it open swiftly, trying to scare whoever was behind that scared _him_ half to death few seconds ago. Again, he met darkness. Louis closes the doors annoyed with the universe.

“Whoever you are, mysterious person, Halloween was yesterday. You missed the right date and I’m not in the mood for games. I’m tired and just want to sleep.” Louis says to the room in general. When no one answers him, he sighs and buries himself in his bed. He puts the duvet over his head so only his face was peeking from one side – fully protected from the monsters and invisible people that could try to get him.

As he slowly drifts off to sleep he doesn’t see a lone figure standing in the corner of the room, watching him in interest. The figure walks across the room and holds up a pen with difficulty to write three numbers on Louis’ notepad.

 

+

 

Louis got up early, came down for breakfast on time (for the first time in last four days since he stayed in the castle/hotel) and went for a walk on the thin gravel path that leads towards the cliff. The day was sunny and acted like the last night’s big storm didn’t even happen. Only evidence that Louis didn’t imagine it, were thick branches broken in half lying around the garden of the castle. One lonely gardener was desperately wrangling with a wood chopper and cleared out the garden bit by bit. Louis walks slowly on the path; stepping on small puddles in the dents and splashing all over like a child.

He doesn’t know for how long he walks when he comes to a clearing on the small hill the hotel is placed at and then a slope goes down with the path, revealing a beautiful view on a small village beneath. Houses were small and bunched together around a tiny square in the valley, like any small village in Scotland or in Fife particularly.

It is also the only village around here for miles. Louis thinks about Harry two nights before telling him he lives near the Moyres castle and often comes to visit. He hasn’t seen him yesterday at all and nothing indicated that will change today. _Maybe I could go and try to find him_ , Louis questioned in his brain. _What if he doesn’t want to see you_ , his brain says back, _he left really quickly after you invited him in your room_. _Maybe_ , Louis supposes. But the image of Harry glued to his front and mouthing at his jaw told him differently. _Maybe he was shy_ , Louis concludes, _not anyone is up for one night stands or casual relationships_.

Louis looks down on the village one last time and steps back.

 

He is wandering the castle halls when he bumps into several guests who were just checking in their rooms and Mr. Allen – always a helpful person - was showing them the way.

“Mr. Tomlinson!” he greets cheerfully and then sets his face into professional politeness. “I haven’t seen you since the ball! Our champagne got you really good, huh? Did you sleep well?”

Louis nods confusedly. “Yeah. Uhm. I slept well.” Allen looked at him exactly like Stan sometimes did after a wild drunken night; waiting for Louis to remember all the embarrassing stuff he said or did, with a knowing smile on his face. Louis didn’t get too drunk two nights, did he? He didn’t wake with a horrible hangover in the morning; in fact he slept like a baby for the first time in weeks.

Allen answers Louis before he even asked. “You were dancing for half of the night by yourself in the ballroom. And really good may I add.” Allen abstained from snickering or smiling too much. “I take it you liked it?”

Louis blinked several times, trying to connect the dots in his head. He was dancing only with Harry that night. He doesn’t remember going back and embarrassing himself like that.

“I-I was dancing with Harry.” He laughs half-heartedly, trying to ease the embarrassing situation ahead, “I was with Harry the entire night.”

“Alright.” Allen says carefully as if Louis might jump on him any second, “well, if you need anything or just have a chat, you know where to find me!” he ushers the guests in their rooms and carries the large suitcases. Louis walks amusedly back to his room. Maybe Allen drank a bit too much at his own party. He was starting to talk rubbish. Louis closes the door of his room and leans over the hardwood desk, checking his schedule. He glances at his notepad, to see if his notes were too ruined after he slobbered all over them last night.

“What’s this?” he asks out loud and stares at three shakily drawn numbers.

 _104_.

Did he write that last night? What could they mean? Number of guests, bottles of champagne drank, how many times Louis yawned during the program? It didn’t stand out. And it wasn’t his handwriting either, now that he looks more carefully into it. The zero is too thin and elegant, he writes his zeros round and fat – more like O’s. And the short line of the one is too close to the long line – looks like numbers from ancient files he had to tackle during his internship. Maybe Allen went in during his absence and wrote it down so Louis could remember.

I’ll ask him during his interview in the afternoon, he decides checking his schedule once more.

 

Aidan Allen’s office is like a double sized cupboard if Louis wants to throw him a bone. It isn’t particularly large and all that fits in it is a solid big desk, two chairs and a slim closet with it’s doors slightly opened. All over his desk are papers and files; Louis supposes there is more of it in the closet who looks like it will burst any second.

Allen himself is not too down about it; in fact he is rather cheerful and talks a mile an hour about anything Louis asks. It’s not even that dull of a conversation as it always seemed to Louis whenever he talked with the man days before, and Allen even cracks a few jokes (funny jokes!) at his own or his staff’s expense. When he starts talking about the number of rooms the castle has, Louis suddenly remembers the odd thing in his notepad. He asks Allen about it.

“I wasn’t in your room at any time, sir.” Allen says almost apologetically, “I don’t know what it could mean. Maybe a start of an address?” he offers but Louis shakes his head.

“No. I don’t think it is. Uhm, how many guests were there at the ball on Friday?”

Aidan taps his chin in thought. “Maybe two hundred. Only few didn’t show up.” He says proudly. Louis nods and writes it down in his notepad.

“Maybe it could be a start of a phone number? You said you were with someone that night, dancing?” Allen asks carefully again, switching roles with Louis who was now the interviewee.

“Oh. Yeah. Harry. Do you know a boy who comes here often, Harry Styles?” Louis asks and waits impatiently for the answer. Maybe Allen knows more about him. But Aidan Allen shakes his head in confusion.

“No. Do you mean from the village?” at Louis’ excited nod, Allen grimaces apologetically, “Oh, I’m sorry. But no one from the village except those who work in the castle comes around. At least I haven’t seen anyone.”

“Do you know anyone of the name Harry Styles that lives there?” Louis asks impatiently, almost demanding a clear answer. Allen shakes his head again.

“I’m sorry. It is a small village and everyone knows each other so I don’t think I could’ve missed someone. Except,” Allen opened one of his drawers and Louis held his breath, “I don’t know if you’ve heard of him, but he is one of my friend’s favourite poem-writer.” Allen pulls out a small yellow paged book and offers it to Louis. “His name is Henry Styles. But everybody called him Harry.”

“Called him?” Louis mumbles and opens the book as if it will bite him. On every page there was a poem, varying in length and theme but the language was unmistakably far from the today’s English.

“Yeah,” Aidan says with a small smile on his face, “he lived in 1920’s, I think. He even stayed in our castle for several years. Brilliant, brilliant writer. Never reached a massive audience though, a shame really. He is like our own Moyres gem.” Louis was starting to shake in his seat.

“Do you- uhm – do you have a picture of him?” Louis asks shakily, gripping the frail and worn out pages of the poem book.

“I don’t think I do. But we have an oil painting in one of the halls on the second floor. If I didn’t take it down, though.” Allen answers and leans back in his chair. “Do you have any more questions?” 

“No. No.” Louis says and gets on his feet quickly, desperate to check all of the things Allen told him. “I’ll be on my way. If I need something more, I’ll come.” Louis says, with his eyes still fixed on the book and exits Allen’s office quickly.

He runs all the way to the end of the second floor and stops next to a door of a guest room. Ivory white face with accentuated rosy cheeks looked down at him. Sparkling emerald eyes stung at Louis’ skin and the luscious curls mocked him. White shirt was ruffled around his neck and he was wearing a black suit. In his right hand was tucked a black mask embroidered with silver. Louis inhaled sharply.

The oil face of Harry Styles smiled from the fake gilded frame on the wall. Louis’ knees were about to give out. He quickly checks under the portrait for a name. And then he finally fell on his knees in all consuming surprise and shock.

_Henry (Harry) Edward Styles: 1902 – 1922_

 

Louis retreats to his room. He doesn’t bother with changing his clothes and slips into the soft cocoon of his bed. He couldn’t quite connect all of the things that he learned in the space of several days. It didn’t make sense. It all… Louis is not crazy. He is also far too young to develop some scary mental disease that includes vivid hallucinations and shakily written numbers. Maybe he’s still recovering from the scare of the previous night.

And then he inhaled and exhaled in his pillow, trying to calm himself down. Why is this such a mess? Ghosts don’t exist. Monsters don’t exist.

It’s all in Louis’ head. It must be.

But who was he dancing with on Halloween night?

 

+

 

Louis calls the reception and asks for a pound of salt. When the receptionist doesn’t ask why, Louis assumes he heard much crazier requests from his previous guests. Or maybe he knows what Louis is up to and doesn’t blame him in the slightest. Stupid old castles and their ghost stories.

One of the maids brings him the box with ionized kitchen salt and Louis proceeds to draw a circle in the middle of the room. He clutches the rest of the box in his hand. He breathes in deeply several times, mentally preparing himself for what he was about to do.

“Uhm, I don’t know if you’re here or… I don’t know how this whole ghost thing works, but if you’re out there, come show yourself.” He tells the room and nothing happens. “Harry Styles.” He adds the name timidly. The light of his table lamp flickers where he lit it on. And then a tall figure appears next to his locked doors. Louis’ eyes widen and he gasps.

When Harry takes a step forward, a rush of adrenaline shoots through his body and only guided by pure bravery he shouts: “Stay away! I have the salt and iron, and I’ll use it on you!”

“Lou. Louis.” Harry whispers his name and looks at him with sad eyes.

“STAY THE FUCK AWAY! I’ve seen enough Supernatural episodes with my ex to know where this is going! Fuck you!”

Harry sighs and sits down on Louis’ bed. Louis tracks his movement carefully, raising the box inch by inch and threatening to fling all of his contents on Harry.

“Tell me what you want? Do I need to light your bones on fire? Will you torture me? Like you died violently and now you seek revenge? Are you vengeful spirit, Harry?” once Louis started, the questions were just firing from his mouth. Harry looks up sadly at him. _He doesn’t look like a tortured spirit_ , Louis notices. Maybe a sad and tired spirit. He also didn’t put down the salt.

“Will you put that down?” Harry says angrily and curls into himself, “you look ridiculous.”

“The hell I will. If I move just an inch from this circle, you’ll jump on me and tear me to pieces.” Louis counters and puts some of the salt in his hand.

“You’re using kitchen salt, Louis. That doesn’t work.” Harry advises and shuffles with his feet nervously, “you need rock salt.”

Louis gulps audibly and his chest constricts. He couldn’t breathe anymore. He screwed up, he screwed up so much! What was he thinking? _Ordinary kitchen salt_? Of course it is rock salt.

He puts the box next to his feet. “Look, maybe you don’t have to kill me right away. Maybe, maybe we can talk and figure out what it is that’s bothering you?” Louis proposes.

“Like a therapy session, Louis? You’ll have a nice psychiatric session with a ghost? It will surely light up my spirit.” Harry giggles at his choice of words. Louis almost smiled at the pun. For a split second it seemed like a good idea to play doctor with Harry and try to not get brutally murdered at the fine age of twenty five, but when Harry says it like _that_ … Running away is the next best option. He side steps towards the door, eyes not leaving Harry’s hunched frame on his bed.

“Will you help me?” Harry pleads with the most heart-shatteringly puppy eyes he has ever seen. The desperation and hopelessness behind his words rooted Louis to the floor.

“With what?” Louis asks, trying to offer the most sympathy for not-yet-murderous ghost. Harry hugs himself and looks on the ground next to Louis’ feet.

“You need to find my bones.”

Louis blinks. “Excuse me, what?”

“My bones. Find them and bury them.” Harry repeats slowly and stands up. Louis winces.

“How will I do that?” Louis asks and starts to shake under Harry’s gaze and height. He has never felt so small and so scared in his life. “Where even are they? They could be anywhere in the world!”

Harry smiles hopefully. He must have interpreted Louis’ words as offer to help but Louis will not correct him. There’s no reasoning with a ghost.

What is he even saying? He is literally standing in a hotel room and talking with a ghost of a Scotland ‘sheik’ about burying his bones. What has his life come to? He needs some tea. He’ll even drink some strong coffee to put his mind in order.

“It’s easy, Lou!” Harry says excitedly, “they are already in the castle! I wrote the number of the room on your papers. Look.” Harry walks away from Louis and takes his notepad. He flicks back to where the _104_ was written. He shows the numbers again to Louis.

“Oh. _Oh_.” Louis exhales and something clicks in his mind, “did you- was it you who was in my room last night? Scaring the shit out of me?”

Harry visibly withdraws in himself, lowering his head against his chest. “I’m sorry. I popped in to get your attention and tell you about this but then you were undressing yourself and…it took me by surprise.”

Louis smiles at Harry’s bashfulness and ignores the implications that he might have given him a ghost boner. “Well, you could have done it more subtly, rather than giving me a heart attack in the middle of the night.”

“I’m sorry.” Harry apologises several more times. “Will you help me then?”

Louis weighs his options once more in his head. “If I find the time. I need to write that article still and since you didn’t try to murder me in the last few minutes, I can help you.” He says and thinks it’s the best he can offer. Harry doesn’t seem too bad. He might be dead and Louis’ chances of getting some have gone practically to zero but he supposes it’s a nice story to share with his grandkids once he’s old and everyone will think he’s senile. 

Harry smiles widely at him and cups Louis’ cheeks in his large and cold hands. “Thank you, Louis. Thank you!” he says and kisses Louis on the lips. Louis barely spares a second to get a hold of what’s happening when Harry disappears again.

 

+

 

Louis can’t believe he’s still finishing his article and staying at Moyres castle. He should’ve been on the first train back to London after Harry disappeared. Which he is still planning to do, and that’s why he’s making final edits and checks with Mr. Allen. It’s not that he won’t help Harry, it’s just… He doesn’t know what to believe in anymore. Harry seems like an okay ghost but part of Louis still wants to think it’s a very elaborate prank by the universe. Or Mr. Allen, if he had this kind of sense of humour.

But even Allen is a bit weird and jumpy today. Every time someone knocks on his door or passes by him he shakes and shivers. He is also a bit snappy with his employees; making remarks about unimportant things that he looked over in the past, demands everyone to be on their best with a handful of guests in the hotel. Unusual things all around.

Louis and Aidan are now sitting in his office and they talk more about the hotel and Aidan’s future plans for it. When asked specifically, he says only vague things, not anything concrete even for the upcoming spring.

Aidan glances every five minutes at his watch, obviously in a hurry or waiting for someone to arrive. Louis decides to cut it short and to finish what he needs on his way back to London tomorrow. He doesn’t want to bother the man anymore and Aidan keeps asking when the article will be published. Louis is glad he’s leaving.

When there’s a knock on the office door for the fourth time during Louis’ interview, Allen still makes the same nervous jump and rushes to open it. It’s the hotel’s manager and he greets Louis curtly.

“Well, Louis, I’ll be right out for a moment. Need to solve some things, but make yourself comfortable while you wait.” Allen was practically closing the door before he added: “There’s some wine in the drawers!”

Louis is certainly not someone who will pass the opportunity when offered some wine. He hopes it’s not white while he rummages through the top drawers. He has to push some letters and paperwork off the table to make room for the bottle and two glasses when a peculiar headline and lines of words over some documents catch his attention.

“…insurance covers all aspects from floods, snow, fire…”

“…full repayment £45 million in the span of…”

“…bill from September, August and July…”

He pushes them away and starts to fill his glass. Ah, sweet old Bordeaux. Louis barely has a sip when Harry appears next to the door. Louis is certain he would knock and use the doors if he could while being ghost - he’s that polite. Louis almost falls from Allen’s chair and secures a half full glass in his grip.

“Louis.” Harry breathes and leans over the desk. “I know what you’re doing.”

Louis tries to appear dumb. “Uhm…what? What am I doing?” He sips on his drink.

“You had the entire day to find my bones but instead you booked a train from Edinburgh to London!” Harry complains and almost knocks off the wine bottle shaking the table in his moment of fury.

“Well, actually, you don’t have a direct train from Edinburgh to London so I’ll have to change…”

“Louis!”

Louis raises his hands in defeat. “Yeah, okay. You got me. I want to run as fast as I can from you. Harry, do you see the absurdity in all this? You’re a ghost! You’re not real!”

“I am real!” Harry protests and grabs Louis’ hand. “See? Real!”

“That doesn’t mean anything! This might be a very vivid dream for all I know!” Louis tries to explain and gulps the entirety of his glass. “I might be going crazy.”

“You’re not!” Harry shouts impatiently then takes a deep breath, “You’re not.” Louis looks at him pitifully. He said all of the nasty things just to make Harry upset but Louis believes Harry is real. His touch wouldn’t be so nice (although cold) and shooting up sparks in his veins.

He has a crush on a freaking ghost.

Louis sighs and pities himself before opening his mouth. “Are you sure you need my help, love? Really, really sure?”

Harry nods and smiles shyly. “You’re the only one who can. You’re the only one who can see me.”

Louis’ eyebrows shoot up to his hairline. “Me? Only me? For all these years?”

Harry nods. Louis stands up and puts away the wine bottle before facing Harry again. “Well, then. You’ll have to show me what exactly you meant with that number and…yeah. Explain.”

Harry turns to lead Louis and before Louis even steps after him, he remembers. “Oh, wait. I’ll leave a message for Allen.” He fishes a clean paper under a pile of bills and extracts from the hotel’s income.

“What are you going to say? ‘Oh, sorry I didn’t stay I had to help a ghost in your castle’. He’ll never believe you.” Harry snickers and Louis shoots him a dirty look.

“Careful, Harry, or I might piss on your bones before burning them.” He says and scribbles few excuses on the paper.

Then he follows Harry in the hall (Harry goes right through them while Louis has to open and them and scowls at Harry who was smiling at him behind).

“How did you – You’re from 1910’s, right?” Louis asks and Harry nods. “Do you remember anything from when you died?”

Harry shrugs. “Not much. I lived here in the moment I died so…that’s why I’m still here I suppose.”

“That’s your unfinished business? To find and burn your bones?”

“Unfinished business?” Harry counter-asks. Now it was Louis’ turn to shrug.

“You know, ghosty stuff. Something you had to do while you’re alive so you can go on. To the other world.” Louis explains and Harry looks at him more puzzled.

“But I did everything I wanted. I wrote my poems, published them in a small journal in Glasgow and lived. I don’t know what else there is.”

“Hm,” Louis muses, “that’s interesting. Maybe your unfinished business was to meet me.”

Harry smiles widely. “It could be true. I’ve never been in love while I was alive.”

Louis halts in his step and stares at Harry. “Never? But now…”

Harry fidgets where he stood. “Yes. I’m not sure if it really is love but I’m very drawn to you. What do you say these days? I fancy you a lot.”

“Oh.” Louis says simply in lieu of actual words. “That’s…that’s nice. Thank you.”

“Yeah,” Harry laughs, “I’m sorry it is this shitty situation with me being a ghost and all but…if I was alive, I could…we could…”

“Yeah,” Louis interrupts, “maybe. I mean, Harry you’re nice, like really nice but…I prefer my boyfriends with a pulse and body heat. No offence.”

Harry frowns and crosses his arms on his chest. “No. I understand. I…let’s just go.” Harry turns down the stairs and Louis follows him.

 

They walk down numerous stairs and halls, talking on minimum because Louis doesn’t want to freak people out by seeming like he’s talking to himself. It turns out the number Harry wrote is actually one of the rooms in the hotel. Louis would have never guessed that but is really glad that he doesn’t have to tread through the woods or down the cliff. The room is in the far end, in the half basement what they have at the castle. There are iron wrought double doors and walls are thick enough so nobody could hear your screams.

It unsettles Louis a bit, the thought that Harry was locked in one of the rooms and died because no one could find him. Or because someone tortured him like this on purpose. He visibly shivers before pushing the doors with iron 104 on the front right open.

The room isn’t remarkable in any way. There are several crates and empty bags scattered all over the concrete floor. There doesn’t seem to be any sign of ‘Harry Styles’ bones right here’ with flashing lights so he’ll have to look around. He upturns the crates, finds lots of matches and rope in them. None of them are bones – not even animal bones.

“I’m sorry.” Louis turns to Harry and sits on his heels, glancing over the bags and crates. “I don’t think there’s anything here. I mean, all this looks pretty new and someone would’ve found them before. I..”

“Lou, here. Look here.” Harry pointed at the canisters leaned carefully against the stone wall.

“What? There’s nothing there, just some canisters filled with…” Louis crawls on his knees to get closer and sniffs the air. “Gasoline?”

“Louis, behind it. In the wall!” Harry says and Louis crawls all the way to the wall, putting away the canisters and inspects the wall carefully.

“I don’t see anything, Haz. No dents or loose stones…oh!” He almost squeals when a large stone moves back in the wall from where he was leaning against it.

“Oh my God!” Harry says in delight and tries to help Louis with removing the stone. They toss it in the room and peek inside the hole in the wall. Harry inhales sharply when they spot a purple bag in it. Louis takes it and shakes a bit before looking inside. The bag is heavy and it rattles which makes both Louis and Harry smile.

Louis opens it and offers Harry to have a look. Without a doubt the grey sticks with knobs at the end are surely Harry’s bones. They did it! They found them!

“Louis.” Harry starts to laugh and Louis joins him. This is beyond any reason and completely absurd. Louis is so happy that he rushes forward and hugs Harry tightly.

“We did it. We found them.” He says and buries his face in Harry’s curls.

“Louis.” Harry calls and leans back. “Could you burn them now? Please?” Harry pleads him so casually as if they were heatedly discussing which movie to watch before bedtime. Louis hesitates a bit at first. “Do you want to, I don’t know, say your goodbyes first? Say a prayer?” he proposes but Harry shakes his head.

“Let’s go to the back garden.” Harry says and walks back through the door. Louis quickly takes the bag and borrows some gasoline and matches.

 

It took Louis about half an hour to dig a deep enough hole in the back garden to fit all of Harry’s bones and not let any passers-by a chance to find them accidentally. When he fits them together like puzzle pieces in the hole, he looks hesitantly at Harry who was worrying his lip since Louis started digging.

“What will happen if I burn them?” Louis asks quietly, trying not to shatter the sacred moment. Harry shrugs but keeps looking at the pile of what used to be him.

“I don’t know. I go on?” Harry says it more like he’s trying to convince himself of the positive outcome than answering Louis. “It will be okay.”

Louis doesn’t believe him. As a human there’s not much that he knows about ghost rules and tradition but if he were to destroy the only thing in the world that connects Harry to the world of living, there’s a very good chance he might not see him again. _It is essentially what going on means_ , his brain explains to him. He crouches down on the damp grass and rearranges some of the bones, preparing himself for the inevitable.

“Are you sure you want to do this?” he asks Harry maybe for the hundredth time. He looks up at Harry and sees him making the final decision in his mind.

“Yes. Just do it.”

And Louis lights a match. He pours a generous amount of gasoline to make sure all of Harry’s bones will burn and flicks a lit up match in the hole. Flame bursts immediately in the air and engulfs everything that was left of Harry in the world. Both of them watch the bones slowly turning black and then Louis turns to Harry.

“I don’t want you to go.” He admits quietly and Harry’s eyes spark. “I’ll miss you.”

“I’ll be okay. You’ll be okay too.” Harry says and slowly fades in front of Louis’ eyes.

Louis doesn’t have time to grieve properly or to even shed a tear – he clutches a tiny calcium matter in his pocket and runs back into the hotel to call the police.

 

+

 

Louis stands in the front garden watching Aidan Allen being taken away by the police. It turns out he was trying to burn down the castle to get the insurance money because he was deeply in debt. The charity ball was supposed to be propaganda to attract potential buyers or at least investors but when it all failed, this was the last solution to his problem. It didn’t take Louis long to connect the odd behaviour of the hotel manager and all the documents he found in his office with the canisters of gasoline and matches. Louis would daresay it was a classic crime. Thanks to Harry as well; if Louis didn’t go down in the basement he would never find out what Allen planned to do. He might have died in a fire that same night.

“Mr. Tomlinson, thank you for your cooperation. I’ll see you in the police station to get a testament from you. Take care.” One of the police officers says and offers Louis a mug of hot tea. Louis was still a bit shaken from all the events but mostly because he wanted to see Harry again and tell him what happened.

Soon the police cars and the staff went away, leaving Louis alone in the garden among dead flowers and bare trees. He sighs audibly and waits.

“You lied.” A deep voice booms from behind a Juniperus bush. Louis holds his breath.

“It worked.” He says.

“And you lied.” Harry emerges from behind the bush and steps in front of Louis. He smiles knowingly at Louis and puts his hands on Louis’ where he was still holding his empty mug. “You didn’t burn my bones.”

“I did. But not all of them.” Louis says and takes a small greying stick from his pocket. It was one of the small bones from Harry’s hand. “I couldn’t just let you leave me.”

“Louis.” Harry says. And it’s all that he can say. The simple word radiates with empathy, worry and resignation. It makes Louis blossom with love.

“I’ll miss you too much. We… I lied.” Louis mumbles, “I fancy the pants off your ghost arse. You’re so wonderful, Harry. You’re good for me.”

“I’m a ghost, babe.” Harry simply says like it’s the answer to everything.

“And I don’t care.”

Harry pries the mug out of Louis’ hands and sets it down on the ground. “You’re crazy.”

“Only about you, darling Hazza.” Louis laughs and Harry’s lips curve into a big smile. But the light-hearted mood soon dissipated.

“You have to let me go.” Harry says and tightens his grip on Louis’ shoulders. “I need to go on.”

“I know.”

“Please.”

Louis takes out his lighter and dips the thin bone in lighter fluid. “I’ll miss you.” He promises and takes out a packet of matches. He lights one up slowly and sets fire to the tiny bone.

“Kiss me.” Harry says and Louis leans forward, gripping Harry by the lapels of his suit and kisses him deeply. First all that Louis can feel is the coldness of Harry’s skin but not too uncomfortable to stop kissing him. He presses bruising kisses against Harry’s lips one after another while the bone is still burning next to his mug. He then feels soft warmth on his own skin where Harry is touching him.

And then he feels a breeze on his lips.

The bone has turned black.

 

 --------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------

 

_With your power to touch me into feeling_   
_you can breathe life into me._

 

 

 


End file.
